Jason wondered who the hell would be paging him to the second floor. He didn't have any patients there. Still, with all the subterfuge going on around this place, nothing would really surprise him any more. He glanced at his watch. It might even be Cole, bent on his fool rescue mission.
Or it might be Simon. Jason didn't even want to think about Simon, but he found he couldn't help it. Simon's coolness, Simon's confused loyalties, Simon's betrayal. They were going to kill Rick, and Simon worked for them. So, by extension, Simon was a killer, too.
He said he was going to stop them, but Jason knew he didn't stand a chance. He didn't know how Simon had made it away from his jailers the night before, but he was so weak that Jace was sure he'd never make it on this so-called rescue mission. The mission that was actually an assassination.
As the day wore on, Jason had begun to regret his words to Cole. In his mind, Cole was the only real friend he had left. Rick could well be dead by now—he'd been comatose when he'd left here. If not, he'd be dead soon enough if Hylton had his way.
Jason had just about decided to find out what crazy plan Cole had come up with, and offer to help, when he pushed open the door to 229.
The figure sprawled across the bed wasn't Cole. Jason sighed. He hated this kind of confrontation.
It was the Judas in their midst. It was Simon.
Chapter Eleven
Jason almost turned around and walked out the door. It was only the knowledge—that Simon's hard edge might work in Rick's favour—that kept him there. That, and the vulnerability and lines of pain he saw in Simon's face.
Simon didn't often let down his guard. Jason recalled the other wound Simon had had, the year before. It must have been bad, because he remembered the dark circles under Simon's eyes—when he couldn't sleep from the pain. Yet, he'd never asked for help; never said a word about it, except when they'd pressured him. And then he'd made a joke of it.
Until he'd accidentally blabbed under the anaesthesia.
It was the recollection—that Simon never asked for help—that bothered Jason now. Because, he suddenly realised, Simon was asking. Practically demanding it. But it wasn't for him. It was for Rick.
"I'm with someone who'll do him, if I don't get to him first.” “I—can't—stop—it." Jace remembered Simon's words from the night before, and the truth hit him hard. He'd spent all day hating Simon because he was a killer, but Simon was doing everything he could not to kill Rick—or let anyone else do it, either.
Simon was travelling with an assassin, but Simon intended to stop him. Jason suddenly realised that Cole's danger was mild compared to what Simon was going to face.
Jason guessed that Simon had never intended to be caught out like this; never intended for Jason to see just how vulnerable he was. Simon always prided himself on his coolness, in any situation. On keeping his head and keeping control. Well, he didn't look cool or controlled now.
There were lines of pain etched in his brow, and around his mouth, and the dark circles Jason remembered from the year before were back. Simon wasn't going to make it to his appointment tonight—not without a lot of help. Apparently, he hadn't intended to fall asleep—or pass out—Jason couldn't be sure which.
Simon always tried to have everything planned. He'd probably planned to be cool, acerbic, and intentionally irritating. So I won't try to interfere in order to help him. So my focus will be on Rick.
Jason left the room briefly, and came back in with a blanket, several pillows, a thermometer, and a blood pressure cuff. When he put on the cuff, Simon jerked awake, and Jason felt Simon's pulse race under his fingertips. “Take it easy, Simon. I won't bite.”
Simon didn't say anything, and Jason knew he was momentarily stumped; too exhausted to come up with anything suitably cool or insulting. He just stared at Jason with dark eyes.
Jason put a pillow under his bad arm and propped it up. Then he covered Simon with the blanket. “I'll be back,” he assured him. When he got to the door, he glanced back to see how Simon was taking it all. He was already asleep.
Jason smiled and went out the door.
* * * *
Richard Lockmann came back to consciousness with a startling suddenness, but this time, the eyes that greeted him weren't curious or concerned. They were cold, hard, and impersonal.
It was the first time in his life he'd ever faced this kind of hatred and distrust. Who he was had no bearing on this. This was all about what he was. He suddenly realised that those few hours of energetic euphoria might be his last pleasant experience on this earth.
Everyone encounters someone, sooner or later, who doesn't seem to like them. Most of the time, we can pick these people out, because the majority of those we meet treat us neutrally, and it's only friends who really bother to like us. But active dislike can be so strong that it's almost tangible. Rick didn't actually know why the man disliked him, but he guessed it had to do with his mutation. It was only when the man looked away that Rick realised a lot of the dislike was based on fear.
He's afraid of me. Far from feeling a sense of power at the discovery, Rick was appalled. The man was so frightened of him that he'd kill him first, and ask questions later. What could I have done to make him so afraid?
Then he remembered where he was, and thought he knew the answer. He recalled Caroline Denaro, of the shredded skin and gaping organs. Maybe he thinks I'll shed my skin and do an organ dance, right here, he thought.
Or maybe I'm not the only person who's had the benefit of her special touch, he realised, in a ghastly moment of insight. And this guy's afraid I can do the same—
The idea was repellent, and not a little horrifying. He hoped Rutgers had a plan to test him for contagion, before somebody got hurt. Rick didn't blame the man with the gun any more.
I'd much rather be dead—than deadly.
* * * *
Vizar knew Lockmann was awake, but remained quiet. Lockmann was warily watching one of Raeiti's men, and for the moment, Vizar merely wanted to observe him.
Caroline had somehow survived, but her mutation had rendered her psychotic. He wanted to know whether Lockmann was similarly impaired. Vizar watched the changing expressions on Lockmann's face. Curiosity, anger, disgust, fear. No hint of malice; no trace of cunning or hate. Vizar approached the bed, and Lockmann's eyes shifted to him.
Lockmann had a lot of information Vizar needed. Intimidation might be one way to secure his co-operation, but Vizar preferred to speak with him first. To show him they were all reasonable people, and could come to an amicable agreement.
Now that he was close to Lockmann, he began to have doubts about even trying to intimidate him. There was something in his expression that made Vizar think he wouldn't be easily coerced. He'd been too close to death already, but Daniel didn't think that was the answer. Whatever had frightened Lockmann a few minutes ago, it wasn't Raeiti's man, or this complex, or the sight of a gun.
* * * *
Rick's attention shifted to the man by the bed. Until a few days ago, he'd never been the subject of such close scrutiny, and he found it decidedly uncomfortable. What was even more uncomfortable was the way it made him want to act.
Rick's serious side was rapidly being overcome. He appreciated the situation he was in; he could even feel saddened by what had happened to him, but his metabolism wouldn't allow him to lie here and dwell depressingly on how his mutation would affect his life. It was somewhat more daunting to recognise that he might not have a life if the eager gunman had his way, and it was certainly embarrassing to be scrutinised like a bug. But, he was still adapting to the changes within, and the energy buzzing through his body. The stimulation in his brain was wiring him up like a stiff dose of amphetamines. He didn't feel invincible, but risks no longer seemed to carry such a potent price. His sense of humour, which was usually immersed beneath layers of plodding research and detailed observation, was being fed by the rapid synapses in his brain.
You didn't use an alcoholic stupor to do serious research; you didn't use a caf
feine buzz to catch a little extra sleep. Richard Lockmann couldn't use this nearly giddy sugar rush to lie here and suffer embarrassment, intimidation, or dread. Logic dictated that his body would eventually adapt to its new metabolic ups-and-downs—and he hoped to God that Denaro had included a few storage organelles in her little blend—but, for the moment, Rick couldn't help himself—he was on a definite high. When Vizar studied him with an almost morbid fascination, it made him want to laugh.
* * * *
Vizar noticed that Lockmann's eyes were equally assessing. Correction—assessing and amused. Not only was Lockmann unafraid, but there was something in this situation he thought was funny.
Vizar began to wonder whether his initial appraisal was wrong. If Richard Lockmann could laugh at a time like this, then maybe he was as crazy as Caroline.
But, if he can speak, I need him. To find out how much he knows. To find out where Caroline's research is. To find out how he was infected.
To find out how he accidentally mutated his genome.
Because Daniel Vizar no longer had any doubts that Richard Lockmann was a mutant.
Lockmann had lost the soft look of his photo. Vizar might have been tempted to put the difference down to time, but the photo was taken within the last year. This Richard Lockmann had a lean, hard look to his body. Toned and defined muscles beneath bronzed skin. He actually looked younger, but Vizar realised part of that was his expression. Lockmann appeared carefree, and any worry lines that might have aged his face had disappeared.
Then there were his eyes. Daniel had never seen anything like them.
Simply because there weren't any other human eyes that looked like that. The irises appeared almost crystalline, and the colour was an unnaturally bright, nearly transparent emerald.
Vizar was more an administrator than a scientist, but he'd only reached his present position because he had a science background. No one could head up a firm like Genetechnic without some basic knowledge of biology; of biochemistry. People like Caroline Denaro were too prone to half-truths and half-revelations. It was important to decide which research projects to support; where to pour Genetechnic's funds to secure the best returns.
He realised he was looking at one of them now. Seeing him in the flesh was a lot different than staring at him on a monitor. Any doubts he'd had were dispelled. Caroline Denaro's research had been successful, and Richard Lockmann was the result.
Lockmann gave off an impression of barely-contained energy, and Vizar saw the gunman tighten his grip on his weapon. Raeiti must have insisted that all his people review the tapes of Caroline Denaro, in order to be prepared.
Vizar couldn't understand why the gunman was so nervous. After all, they'd tied Lockmann to the bed, and so far, there'd been no hint of the transcendental qualities Denaro exhibited. He began to wonder how he could get the man to back away. It looked as if Lockmann so much as twitched, the man would blow him to hell. And that was the last thing Vizar wanted.
* * * *
Rick could see how close the gunman was to pulling the trigger, but he couldn't help himself. As long as there was light in the room, the chloroplasts in his skin would continue to pump him full of sugar, and there was nothing he could do about it. Even if he could control the tightening of his eager muscles, he could do nothing about the twitching of his tendons. It was the price he was paying for suppressing all that energy.
He had a sudden urge to yell, to scream, to holler—anything to dispel the tension that was building up inside. As he was nearing the end of his patience, deliverance came. Tazo Raeiti, Phillip Rutgers, and the medical staff, came reluctantly back into the room.
* * * *
They were quiet, subdued. The other thing Rick noticed was that none of them seemed very eager to enter more than a few metres into the room, and he was sure only coercion had made them come that far.
“This isn't going to work, Vizar,” Rutgers finally managed. “I can't put my staff at this kind of risk.”
Daniel could tell Raeiti didn't like it. He wanted the rest of his money, and he'd been the one to select the medical team for this operation. Vizar had relied on his experience and contacts to get the job done. If Raeiti or his people couldn't see it through, Vizar could simply refuse to pay them the rest. Somewhere in the middle must lie a level of acceptable risk. In Raeiti's mind, it was up to Vizar to find that level.
“Weigh it carefully, Dr. Rutgers,” Raeiti told the doctor quietly. “You don't want to leave the way Sandler did.” To Vizar he said, “I'm going to send some of my people in to terminate her.”
Rick watched for a moment, but the psychological tension in all the bodies around him was only adding to his own physiological discomfort. “Her?” he asked.
Every eye in the room turned his way. It was as though a cobra had just flared its hood. Rick knew he was only a few finger-lengths from being fragmented.
Shut-up, Rick, he told himself. Or you're mutant meat.
His mouth wasn't listening to his good sense. “Is this Caroline Denaro we're talking about?”
Vizar cleared his throat, and replied, “Do you know her, Dr. Lockmann?” If he did, it would explain a lot of unanswered questions.
“I've never met her ‘in the flesh’,” Rick replied. Some irresistible impulse made him add, “But plenty of times out of it.” If his legs weren't restrained, he would have kicked himself.
“The first thing we need to do is terminate her,” Raeiti insisted. “Before she kills anyone else.”
Rick knew he should be frightened of this man. Intellectually, the flat eyes and cold expression were easy to read. A killer. Rick didn't know where all his bravery was coming from, but he was amused, rather than afraid. Maybe after meeting Denaro, nothing can scare you very much, he reasoned. “Do you really think ‘terminating’ her will stop her?” he asked.
“Shut up—” Raeiti wanted to deal in facts. Facts ignored ghostlike apparitions in the corridors. Facts dictated that a bullet in the brain bought eternal silence.
“Wait!” Vizar ordered, and was privately surprised when Raeiti lowered his gun. “What are you talking about, Lockmann?”
“Aren't you even going to try to get her back?” Rick asked.
“Not any more. You don't know what she's become.”
“Then why don't you show me?” Rick said reasonably. “I don't think I've seen her at her best.” Daniel Vizar failed to see the humour in his remark, and Rick didn't enlighten him.
“There's no point, Lockmann,” Vizar replied, and Rick had the impression the other man was trying to make excuses for his failure to act. “She's too far gone. The only way we can stop her now is to get rid of her.”
“She's a murderer, Rick.” It was the first time Sacchara had spoken since he'd been thrust into the room. Now he said the words that were on everyone's mind. "Maybe you are, too."
Rick nodded. “The first thing you need to do is find out if I'm contagious.”
Even Raeiti looked a little stunned at that one.
“How can she pass on gene sequences?” Sacchara asked, confused. “That's what I don't understand.” It was what had been driving him crazy; the knowledge that they were all so vulnerable. His voice had gone up nearly to a whine, and Shaine was tempted to shoot him. “How'd she infect Morgan? Solomon should have known better—”
Rick looked pityingly at him. This wasn't the same man who'd come to “inspect” his alarm system. It was obvious Sacchara had suffered a breakdown. “So you still don't know?” Rick asked, looking around at the group. It seemed so long ago that he'd figured it out.
“Don't know what?” Vizar prompted.
“Denaro was infected by a virus.” As he said the words, any doubts he'd had about the nature of her, and by extension, his, illness disappeared. Only the doubt—about whether he should be revealing so much—remained. “A plant virus.”
“A plant virus?” Rutgers sounded doubtful.
“Yes,” Rick said. “WTV. Wound Tumour Virus. She acciden
tally included it with some gene sequences she transferred into her rats.” He hesitated. “Her rats gave it back to her.” He added more quietly, “And she gave it to me.”
Daniel was sweating now inside his isolation suit. “Method of transfer?” he asked.
“Physical contact. With leafhoppers, it's saliva.”
“Contagious enough to kill people within hours,” Sacchara groaned.
Raeiti saw only one solution. “Kill her. Kill him. Then burn down the building.” He raised his gun and levelled it at Rick's head.
“Wait!” Rutgers said. “If he's right, and this is a new virus, then he's the only living survivor. Which means he's the only one with antibodies.”
“Or I could be like Typhoid Mary,” Rick pointed out reasonably. Shut up, Rick! he told himself.
“Possibly,” Rutgers admitted. “I think we need to find out.” He went over and stood by Rick's bed. “I'd rather risk keeping him alive, than kill him, only to find out he was our one hope for a cure.” What he didn't say, was that with the differences they'd already discovered in his body chemistry, he didn't know whether any antibodies Lockmann possessed would be useful to the rest of them.
In that moment, Richard Lockmann's status improved considerably. The change from cold-blooded murderer to potential saviour was accomplished in the space of a few words. Cold terror shifted to something closer to warm regard. Even Raeiti had lowered his weapon, and Rick was given the distinct impression that unless he was proven contagious, he'd just acquired a personal bodyguard.
He didn't know that Tazo Raeiti had now been through three screenings of the Caroline Denaro horror show. And Raeiti's need to contain the situation would follow the path he felt was most expedient.
There was something that was still bothering Vizar. “If you've never actually met Denaro, how did you contract this ‘virus’?” he asked. “From a sample?”
“Even a single particle of WTV carries its entire genome,” Rick told him. It had grown silent again. They were all listening. Rick met Daniel's eyes. Daniel could see the conviction there. “I never met the lady in person,” he said. “But I met her out of it.”
Light Play: Book One of The Light Play Trilogy Page 21
